Best Kept Secrets
by Sherlocked Gallifreyan
Summary: There was no easy way to explain this. Matt might be able to get away with telling Claire that he just got really lucky. Guardian angels or something. He could have gotten away with telling Foggy that before the night his friend had found him bleeding on the floor. Spoilers for both Daredevil and Defenders. update: deleted original ch 2 and 3, reworked ch 2
1. Surviving

The thing calling himself Matt Murdock stirred. His body was broken; bones pierced his skin and organs felt out of place. He couldn't find any trace of Elektra. It wasn't that she was dead - she seemed to be gone entirely. A horrid cracking, grating noise filled the air as his broken bones forced themselves back together; everything that wasn't immediately life threatening could wait until he was home. He discarded his mask and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Contrary son of a bitch" wasn't going to explain this. He might be able to get away with telling Claire that he just got really lucky. Guardian angels or something. He could have gotten away with telling Foggy that before Foggy had found him bleeding out on the floor. He would never not be grateful for Foggy's help even though he would have healed fine on his own (blood loss is different: broken bones are shrill, rough-hewn; blood loss is quiet, soft. It's dangerous and the slow fade scares him). No more secrets. No more lies. Maybe they could heal.

He shook his head to clear it. If he couldn't find a way out of here he'd die of dehydration before explaining this to his friends became an issue. Maybe explaining to Jessica, Luke, and Danny first would be easier? He forced thoughts of his friends out of his mind and focused. An image formed slowly. The concrete beneath his boots was cracked and pitted from the collapse but structurally sound. The rubble around him unfolded itself in a maze of brick, metal, and glass. From his left, a current of air snaked its way in from the city above, eddying around him. He turned until the draft was in front of him and shifted his focus from the room at large to _what am I stepping on don't step on bodies mind the cracks don't walk into anything keep draft on left side of face breathe watch the ground_ ** _breathe_**

It was slow going. Bruises and open wounds flared unpredictably, blurring his picture of his surroundings. He had to stop more times than he cared to admit to catch his breath and let the picture come back into focus. Each time it slipped it came back a little fuzzier. His right foot caught a body (somebody's shoulder) and he stumbled, hitting his knee hard against a bit of twisted metal. Cursing the metal, his lack of attention, Elektra, and the world in general, he forced himself to keep going. The conversations awaiting him on the surface weren't a pleasant thought but dying of dehydration was a worse fate. Briefly he entertained the idea of leaving Hell's Kitchen and starting somewhere else.

 _left foot right foot left foot just gotta shit shit where's the draft_ He tugged his gloves off and pawed at the air. It felt like it looked ridiculous but it worked. He found the draft further to his left than he thought. When had he lost track of it? _no no don't think about that just keep following it_ The draft was stronger, the air fresher. He was getting closer. Maybe this was all for nothing. Maybe the draft was slipping in through a tiny crack in a wall of concrete. Matt laughed at the thought, an ugly, almost hysteric sound that twisted and scraped around him. They'd find his body down there when the city finally cleared the rubble. Blind lawyer Matthew Murdock dressed as Daredevil - no wonder the two had disappeared at the same time.

Maybe he did have some sort of guardian angel. His mental image fizzled briefly into nothingness as the rubble gave way to what felt like an opening just big enough to get through. He fell back against a larger chunk of wall and focused on that opening. It was bigger than he originally thought. Ditching the rest of the armor was so tempting. He was sweaty and felt close to overheating but was stumbling around in his underwear a good idea? _of course not matthew don't do that that's just stupid_ He wished someone else's voice would join his. His skull was oddly quiet without Stick berating him for every mistake and without his dad encouraging him to get up, keep going. He pushed himself off the chunk of wall and stumbled, legs not quite keeping up with the momentum of his upper body. _right left right left fucking what was that right left_ ** _breathe_** _hands out don't wanna find the wall with my face_ Foggy's voice ricochetd carelessly across his monologue. "You're just a guy right? A really, really good looking guy." How many lies ago had that been?

The wall with the opening came sooner than expected and he nearly did end up falling onto it face first. A bit of undignified flailing landed him on his ass instead. Disoriented, he remained on the ground as the room shifted too quickly. _clumsy clumsy get back up get out_ Getting up was harder without anything he could use as support but he made it to his feet. He swayed drunkenly, then lurched out the opening (much bigger than he thought; not a crack in the wall but the result of two massive pieces of the building half supporting each other). The cold night air bit at his lungs and stabbed clarity into the mental picture of his surroundings. Everyone was gone, that much he knew. The police had probably barricaded the area and declared it a crime scene. Was he tampering with evidence? He couldn't remember if any of his classes had ever touched on what to do when you yourself could be considered evidence. Especially what to do if everyone thought you were dead.

In the strange way exhaustion warped his perception of time, his trek back to his apartment simultaneously took forever and ended before he thought it should. He'd genuinely debated just walking back home via the sidewalks but couldn't come up with an explanation that wouldn't raise more questions. Bondage party? What's a good Catholic boy like Matt Murdock doing at a bondage party? Father Lantom would hear about that one. Costume party nowhere near the month of October? Okay sure. People did weird things. What about the blood, bruises, and scrapes? Underground fight club? Weren't those things illegal? _come on matty you should know this_

So he skulked down back alleys where he could and reluctantly dragged himself up fire escapes and across rooftops where he couldn't. Through some far-fetched miracle he managed the journey without falling from anything higher than five feet off the ground.

Finally his surroundings took on a familiar hue, the scuffing of boots on rooftop telling him that he was home. The stairs were nearly impossible; he was half-tempted to just fall down the rest of them and lay at the bottom in a useless heap of pain and armor, but he wanted to get the suit off. It was damaged and grated against his skin. He wanted to take a shower and then sleep until his body had knitted itself back together. As he discarded the suit, it dawned on him that he had no idea what day it was or if either of his phones were charged. It also dawned on him that he didn't care.


	2. Thanks Brett

A/N unbeta'd so if there are any mistakes let me know

updated here 06.12.18. original 05.22.18 update note copied from my ao3 account:

hoooooo boy yikes. while i liked the original second and third chapters i had posted for this, i'd written myself into a corner. i'm still trying to piece this thing together and i'm hoping the pacing is a little better now.

update 5.22.18: deleted the second and third chapter i'd posted for this and uploaded a different version of chapter 2. i'd written myself into a corner with the original chapters and i'm hoping this helps fix things

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When the city cleared away what was left of the building at Midland Circle, the only trace of either Matt or Daredevil was the horned mask, perched atop a pile of debris in a manner that could only be intentional. Bloody boot prints led out of the rubble. Getting out hadn't been easy as the prints were uneven and unsteady. It appeared as though a badly injured Daredevil had stumbled his way to the surface, falling several times along the way. How he managed the climb up from the sublevels, no one knew.

It would be almost two weeks before anyone knew Matt Murdock was still alive. His kidnapping was kept quiet since his disappearance coincided too closely with that of Daredevil. No one quite wanted to acknowledge that the conspiracy theorists might be right. When Murdock returned without the Devil on his heels, the city heaved a sigh of relief.

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Reluctantly Matt opened his eyes. He thought he had showered after getting home, but he still smelled of blood and sweat. He had no clue what day it was or what time it was. He reached out for his alarm clock only to find it wasn't there. He had an odd, distant memory of the clock going off like usual, but instead of turning it off, he'd shoved it off the nightstand. _maybe i unplugged it_ He sat up slowly, not liking the way his mental image of the world shifted and tilted as he moved. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hoping contact with the floor would help steady things. It didn't.

 _where are my phones_ Trying to sort through memories from last night, Matt figured his personal phone was somewhere in the kitchen while his burner was wherever he'd dropped the suit. The suit, which he knew he should clean but couldn't find the energy to worry about at the moment. His phones could stay where they were until he showered. He took a breath to steady himself and slowly pushed to his feet. On the bright side, the world didn't start spinning any more than it had been sitting down. Moving cautiously, he shuffled stiffly away from his bed and around the nightstand so he could lean against the wall to finish undressing. _i don't remember getting dressed last night - when did i do that maybe the entity did..._ He kept a hand to the wall as he made his way to the bathroom. After turning the tap to full hot to bring warm water up to his apartment, he sat on the closed toilet lid and marvelled at the muting of his senses. It wasn't like when he was sick or when depression got the better of him; it was like turning down the volume on a radio. He figured it was whatever he now shared his body with. The entity had done this before. _move_

When he stood up this time, the world was steadier, if considerably more humid than before. How long had he sat there? _not important_ He fumbled a bit for the cold water knob but found it and brought the water to a comfortable temperature, then stepped into the shower. Hands braced against the wall, he carefully checked each organ, muscle, bone, everything, for anything but superficial damage. Only cuts and bruises remained. The entity must have healed everything else as Matt slept. If that was the case, how long had he been out? It had taken the entity a while to heal some of his more serious injuries in the past, especially if it knew it could take its time. _also not important_

"Thanks," Matt rasped to an empty room. As he showered, he let his senses drift out of his apartment. What he perceived was still warped and muted in places but accentuated in others. Maybe it wasn't the entity this time. He found Foggy's heartbeat without realizing he'd been looking for it. He, Karen, and Claire sat at Claire's kitchen table, talking about Matt and trying to come up with an explanation they could share with the public for why he had suddenly disappeared. They seemed to reach a consensus. The kidnapped lawyer story would remain the cover, but from there they'd have to talk with Luke, Danny, and Jessica to come up with a believable story for what happened after Matt had been kidnapped. "I keep calling him," Foggy said with a shaky laugh. "It all just goes straight to voicemail." _phone's dead somewhere sorry fog_

"Someone should go check on his apartment," Karen said, and Matt hated the silence that followed. He gritted his teeth and shook his head to clear it. He was alive, his heart was still beating, and he was going to (eventually, somehow) explain to his friends how he survived, all the while praying desperately they wouldn't turn away when they knew the rest of the truth. He dreaded most telling Foggy and Claire that he wouldn't have died after his fight with Nobu, even without medical attention. _just be honest_ As if he planned on lying anymore. Those closest to him deserved the truth, and he accepted the consequences that would follow.

He turned the shower off and was surprised by knocking at his door. Detective Mahoney? Matt grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before hurrying to the door. Mahoney's heart spiked when he saw Matt. "How the _hell_ did you survive?" he demanded. Matt grimaced and gestured for the other man to come in. He locked the door and followed Mahoney to the sitting area.

"It's….It's not easy to explain," Matt began. The detective's heart had slowed a bit since initially seeing Matt.

"Nothing's easy to explain with you," Mahoney said evenly. He paused a moment, then said, "For now, it doesn't matter. I can tell your friends you're alive if you want me to. But I _will_ want an explanation."

"Thank you," Matt said. Brett nodded, then stood up and left without a word. Matt offered up a quick prayer of gratitude for the detective. Maybe having that bridge would make it easier to explain how he survived. At least he wouldn't be showing up out of the blue. They'd know he was coming. Matt suspected Mahoney had just been checking up on the apartment. Or maybe someone had reported noise coming from an apartment that had sat quiet for so long. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

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Brett didn't waste any time calling Foggy. "You at home?" he asked, skipping the pleasantries.

"No," Foggy said, mildly confused. "I'm at Claire's."

"Good. Karen there?" After Foggy confirmed that, Brett continued: "I'll be stopping by with news about Matt." He hung up before Foggy could say anything else. He did _not_ want to be having this conversation over the phone.

The drive from Matt's apartment to Claire's was nowhere near long enough, but Brett steeled his nerves and knocked on the door before he could change his mind. Claire opened the door and hurried him inside. Foggy and Karen waited expectantly at the table. "You've heard from Matt?" Foggy asked. He and Karen were trying so damn hard to not look too hopeful.

"Better," Brett said. "I saw him. Spoke with him. He's alive." He held up his hands to forestall their questions and exclamations. "I don't know how. He said it was hard to explain."

"Of course it's hard to explain," Foggy interrupted.

"I told him I would tell you that he's alive, but explaining everything still falls on him," Brett said.

"Did he look okay?" Karen asked.

"He was cut up and bruised pretty bad, but he didn't look like he'd dropped a building on himself. He looked tired, and I think he's scared of the conversation he's gonna have with you. Look, I gotta get back to work. I told Matt I'd tell you he was alive, and I did. Good luck." With that, Brett left Claire's apartment. He wondered if Matt could hear his heartbeat.

Silence engulfed the kitchen. Matt was alive. At this point, Foggy couldn't honestly say he was too surprised. Matt had survived everything else. Why shouldn't he have survived this? Foggy reached the same conclusion as Claire said, "If he survived this, he would have survived Nobu, right?"

"Fuckin' bastard," Foggy whispered. If Matt had just _trusted_ him from the beginning…

"He could have gotten lucky this time," Karen pointed out. "Brett said he was bruised and cut up, right? Maybe the way the building fell it - it…" She sighed. "I don't know, okay? None of us do. Let's wait for Matt to explain and not jump to conclusions." Foggy and Claire exchanged a skeptical look. They'd both learned Matt's secret when they thought he was bleeding out, and Claire had stitched Matt up countless times. Had any of that been necessary? Foggy hoped for Claire's sake that the stitches had helped Matt in some way.


End file.
